


Heartbleed

by darkforetold



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 11:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12480760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: Gabriel loses an agent. His savior is a man who wears a cowboy hat.Gabriel set the shower’s water to scalding and stepped inside. He wanted nothing more than to burn away his guilt and shame. To suffer for his sins, for his inability to keep her safe and for the failure of letting her die. He was drowning and needed to be saved.His savior—he wore a cowboy hat, and where he went, the sun came with him.





	Heartbleed

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is. My very first McReyes fanfic. I hope you like it!
> 
> I want to thank everyone for being so welcoming. I've never really met a group of people so encouraging until now. Every day, I'm amazed at how wonderful this new group of friends is and, honestly, it's become a little family to me.
> 
> I want to thank smarshtastic in particular. Without her exuberance and love for our boys and her fics, I probably wouldn't be in the fandom right now. She drew me in with her generosity, her kindness, and her encouragement. I could tell she was someone special from the very first time she replied to one my comments on her fic. And it was that wonderful, warm energy that ultimately drew me to fandom.
> 
> So, thank you for giving me a new home, for beta'ing this fic. Thank you for putting up with my wordiness, my fragments, and my similes. Thank you for your patience and for tolerating all my DMs. Thank you for being you. Don't ever doubt your worth in this fandom. You are amazing. <3

 

Gabriel knew pain. It was comfortable and familiar. The ache of his muscles after a strenuous workout fit him like a pair of worn tac gloves. A broken bone a welcomed respite after a long, tedious mission. He remembered how the pain settled in easily during boot camp, how his lungs burned and how alive it made him feel. Even the agony during his stint with SEP and all the shit they had pumped into his system felt like home. Pain had never been a stranger but a friend. A lifeline when emotional agony threatened to cut through him like a chainsaw.

His world began to piece itself together, slowly and imperfectly, in jagged pieces. Blonde hair, blue eyes… a soft touch against his hand. The smell of blood and a… _crushing_ ache in his chest as if he’d been hollowed out and left for dead. Then everything rubberbanded, snapping together cruelly. 

Angela stood in front of him with a look of worry—no, _sadness_ —on her face, her hand holding his. Not out of friendship or comfort but out of necessity; to pry open his fingers, peeling from him whatever he’d been clutching in his fist. Something he refused to let go of at first. The chain, the sound of metal against metal, its warmth—it had grounded him while everything else threatened to rip him apart. Now without it, he tried to concentrate on the bullet wound in his shoulder instead. Its pain, down to the bone, didn’t distract him from the emptiness he felt, the guilt that ate away at him. He couldn’t find comfort in the agony or the safety in its familiarity like he used to.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Angela whispered. “She was important to all of us.”

Dog tags—that’s what she’d taken from him. He could still feel the indentation mapped on his palm. Could almost read the name with his fingertips. The crescents of blunt fingernails bit into his skin as he clenched his fist again, his jaw set hard enough to break teeth. He wanted to break something— _someone_ —and the room seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for him to lash out. And, in a way, he did, as much as he could manage, giving the collective—nurses, his own agents—a cold, hard glare. 

He didn’t want anything to do with _any_ of them. 

Angela’s disciples parted as he cut through them, his footfalls hard and steady, mournful. Off to the side, Jack looked on, and for a second, made eye contact. His downcast expression said everything he wouldn’t— _I’m sorry, I wish there was something I could do_ —and Gabriel met it with a sneer because he _could_. Because somehow, some way, _someone_ had to pay for his loss.

He thundered by without a word. Behind him, Angela and her nurses tended to his agents, whispered voices— _Are you hurt? Let me take a look at you_ —dying to a strangled murmur as he wound his way deeper inside the base. He’d grown to hate its pristine walls, the steady beeping of its guts, heartbeat strong and vital. Everything neat, orderly and laughably fake. Just a pretty parade for the UN, to keep Overwatch’s pockets lined with money.

What a joke.

His escape route led him straight to the gym. Inside, the stuffy air clawed at his throat and darkness loomed. It closed in on him and his chest constricted with anxiety, his lungs short on air. He was suffocating. Dying. He reached out blindly for the wall, _anything_ to support his weight, when the automatic lights clicked on. 

There, in the wall-length mirror, the ghost of a man looked back at him.

He took in an aborted breath then stared at himself long and hard. The blood spattered on his face, the scars across his nose. He’d lost his beanie somewhere during the mission, the chaos, the screams, and his hair, short at the back and longer at the top, was matted lifelessly to his forehead. He ran a hand through it—then drove a fist into his reflection.

Glass cracked and shattered, spraying a rain of pieces that bit at his skin. He punched at the concrete wall behind it and the sound of breaking bone was unmistakable. The pain—it was absolutely euphoric. He punched until his knuckles were bloody, until skin and bone knit itself together under his hard, cold stare. Pain never lasted as long as he wanted it to anymore—not since SEP. Wasn’t as satisfying either. Nor did it mend any of the emotional bullshit that kept piling up and up, a tower so high that a whisper might topple it all over and crush him. 

That afternoon, he punished his body as hard as he could possibly push it, for as long as he needed to be punished. Lifting heavier weights than he should have. Letting the bullet in his shoulder burrow deeper because he simply deserved it. He let her name—Katherine Laurentiis—nestle in beside his aches and pains. Mourned her again and again as he drove his body to and past the point of breaking. His joints strained and his muscles pulled, leaving him breathless, exhausted and slumped on the floor. He ran fingers through his sweat-damp hair. The gym’s fans whirred. Because he hadn’t moved in a while, the automatic lighting shut off.

In the dark, despair came for him.

Her smile had been brighter than the sun. Always, whenever a new Blackwatch agent had been enlisted, Katherine would take them under her wing, care for them, make them feel welcome—something he didn’t have the capacity to do. She was the soft touch to his firm hand. The gentle word to his command. He wouldn’t get a handmade card from her for his birthday like he had every year before. Never again would he find her asleep on the couch in the rec room, blanket on the floor. He’d never have to drape it over her again or keep his booming voice soft because she was sensitive to sound. Jack smiled and joked easier around her, and Ana always had someone to share a cup of tea with. And no one, not even Fareeha, laughed louder at Reinhardt’s jokes than she had. 

Losing her was _his fault_. Alone and vulnerable, his heart broke.

He took a deep breath after a while and stood, awash with a flood of light. It should’ve chased away the darkness in his brain, subdued the ache in his chest, but it didn’t. His emotions were a raging storm that only worsened as he headed toward his quarters. He passed the couch she normally slept on, the blanket folded over its armrest (she’d always been so neat and tidy) and he hurt all over again. Pressing on his wound, letting the bullet bite against bone, was just a moment’s worth of release.

In his room, he shed layers of himself until the too-cold air found friction against his naked skin. The ghost lurked in the mirror again, but instead of his fist meeting glass, he gave himself a sneer. Then, he set the shower’s water to scalding and stepped inside. He wanted nothing more than to burn away his guilt and shame. To suffer for his sins, for his inability to keep her safe and for the failure of letting her die. He was drowning and needed to be saved.

His savior—he wore a cowboy hat, and where he went, the sun came with him.

Jesse was there when he came out of the bathroom, hat clenched in front of him, head canted down; exactly how Gabriel imagined a cowboy would give a fallen comrade a moment of respect. It was almost too much, too soon—and Jesse knew it by the way he nodded his head a degree and threw the hat aside. 

They came together, not saying a single word. Gabriel grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him, harder and more desperately than he should have. He was obsessed with how Jesse felt under his rough fingers; soft in places, angular across his cheekbones and scratchy where he’d let his beard fill in. The smell of him, too—an earthiness he could never quite place, with a roll of warm vanilla and sunflowers from the shampoo he used. Cigarettes too, because no matter what he did, he couldn’t get Jesse to stop smoking. The taste of whiskey across his tongue set Gabriel on fire. The warm wetness of his mouth, his body heat pressed flush against his own—everything _Jesse_ drove him crazy. Kissing him, _feeling_ him… gratitude replaced despair. Jesse hadn’t been on that mission, stuck in an office somewhere because he’d pissed Jack off.

He couldn’t decide if he was more thankful for Jesse’s insubordination or Jack’s foul mood.

Their kiss turned tender, lips parting, Jesse’s tongue the first to sweep in and taste him. Gabriel yanked him in by his hips and Jesse grunted with the impact, chuckling a little under his breath. It was the kind of sound that, no matter what, could soothe all his pain. It helped ease the knot in his chest. Jesse against him was a balm to his soul but none of that was what he needed right now.

He needed to hurt.

“Jesse,” Gabriel grunted, “I need you t—“

“I know what you need, darlin’.”

Jesse kissed hard him this time, crushing their lips together so it stung, then sucked on his bottom lip before biting down. The sudden pain brought Gabriel clarity, something he could concentrate on. The way his lip throbbed, the note of copper in his mouth. It washed away all the hurt, the blame, the self-loathing—and he was _addicted_ to it. 

He needed _more_.

His hands were greedy on Jesse’s hips, yanking him closer in a way that was entirely too rough. Jesse tensed but that didn’t stop Gabriel from kissing his neck, with teeth a little too quick to nip. The rolling thunder he heard then wasn’t in the sudden turn of the weather, but a growl deep in Jesse’s throat.

Jesse shoved him back onto the bed, quick and brutal, and Gabriel let him manhandle his way on top. The thrill of Jesse’s dominance made him struggle and fight back even more. He wanted to appeal to the part that Jesse kept hidden, the darker side of him that shot before asking questions, that killed without thinking. The part of Jesse McCree that would punish him if he went too far. The dark flash in Jesse’s eyes—it stole his breath away, and his dick went rock hard when Jesse grabbed his wrists and locked them against the mattress.

“We goin’ to have a problem, sweetheart?” came the drawl.

Gabriel never wanted Jesse to fuck him harder than in that moment. The dark storm in Jesse’s brown eyes, the upward tilt of his lips said, _C’mon, I dare you_. Jesse promised pain in all the ways he needed it and Gabriel, a glutton for it, wanted to test his limits.

He bucked up against Jesse, not for the friction, but to get Jesse _off_ him. Jesse held on fast, grabbing him by the hair and yanking back. It sent a slice of pain down his spine, and with his neck at an angle like this, throat exposed, the tickle of Jesse’s lips teased his skin. Gabriel couldn’t help but let out a desperate groan. Jesse’s smile ghosted his ear. “You want to get fucked?”

“Yes,” he growled out.

“Then you best behave.”

That was all it took for Gabriel to lay loose and pliant under him. That dominance gave Jesse license to hold his wrists down again, to kiss his neck, his Adam’s apple, in a way that was entirely too soft and gentle. He wanted hard and rough, to swallow down his doubts with pain. He wanted a bitter pill, not an excuse to wallow in his grief. And as soon as Gabriel growled a little, jerked back from Jesse like he had a disease, Gabriel could almost feel Jesse frown in the darkness of his bedroom. Jesse nipped at him again. It hurt but not enough, and he was growing desperate. If Jesse knew, he didn’t show it. 

Down Jesse went, to his nipples. Lavishing them with his tongue, pinching the hard buds between his lips then grazing them with teeth. Gabriel arched his back as he shuddered. Jesse spared them a little more attention before letting Gabriel’s wrists go and straightening up. His shirt went first and Gabriel couldn’t help but run his hands over his sun-kissed skin. Fingertips grazed Jesse’s toned chest, smooth and defined as if an artist had sculpted them out of marble. Jesse caught him staring and abused that unchecked moment to run his hands down both of Gabriel’s arms. So soft, so gentle, so _Jesse_ , that Gabriel snapped out of it and frowned. “Just— _fuck_ me, Jesse.”

Jesse clucked his tongue. “Now, where’d you learn those manners from? The gutter?”

Gabriel glowered. “ _Please_.”

“Could never deny a man beggin’ for it,” Jesse winked, “'specially if it’s you doin’ the beggin’”.

They were flush, skin to skin, before Gabriel cared to register it. The blazing heat they made together, their hard dicks tucked in against one another, the friction, the comforting weight of Jesse’s body on top of his. Gabriel let out a strained breath, letting all his worries, his guilt, run off him like water. Jesse snuck in another soft kiss on his lips and Gabriel moaned under it despite himself. Then, Jesse settled between his thighs, to fuck him like he needed it.

It meant lube but not enough to make it easy. It meant no preparation. It meant hurting him as much as Jesse could stand. To not make love to him, like Jesse usually did with soft touches and kisses, but to fuck him until he couldn’t breathe. Until all the hurt vanished under the intensity of _pain_.

Jesse shoved his way inside without so much as a warning. It hurt but felt fucking good too, and the stretch burned just enough to make it uncomfortable. Just enough that Gabriel let out the breath he’d been holding in a hiss instead of a moan. That was when Jesse slowed his next thrust, pushing his cock into him so gently, so reverently, that it made all the emotional bullshit inside him well up and threaten to burst. A thumb swept across his cheekbone, soft lips like a prayer against his mouth as if he deserved to be worshipped. Honored. Loved.

But Gabriel knew he didn’t deserve any of that, and he pushed Jesse upright harder than he should have. The frown on Jesse’s face said everything. Whether the hurt was out of rejection or because he’d actually physically hurt him, Gabriel didn’t know. The light in those beautiful brown eyes grew much darker, and Jesse—sweet, always gentle Jesse—lashed out. He grabbed Gabriel’s hair again and pulled back at an angle that made Gabriel grunt. Then Jesse fucked him harder than he ever had, one hand on his hip, the other keeping Gabriel under control, still and compliant. It was obscene; the sound of Jesse’s thighs slapping against his ass, the smell of their sweat and sex thick. It was everything he needed but it wasn’t enough. Somehow, it would never be enough.

—and Jesse knew that, pulling his hair back harder, baring his throat. Gabriel let him sweep his lips over his skin one more time because he knew Jesse would make up for it—and he did. Jesse bit the meat of his shoulder hard, and Gabriel groaned with it as the pain raced down his body. Jesse let his hair go, held onto his hips, and rammed his dick into him over and over, until every thrust knocked the breath out of Gabriel’s lungs. If this was how he’d die, fucked to death, he couldn’t think of a better way to go. 

On his back, Gabriel held onto the bedrails and arched his spine, spreading his legs, tilting his hips just so to accept every inch Jesse gave him. Watching Jesse like this, slick with sweat, eyes rolled back into his head—it somehow made everything easier to bear. Gabriel spared a moment to tuck a wet strand of hair behind Jesse’s ear. Lost in his own world, Jesse didn’t seem to notice. Just kept fucking him harder and harder, rough, until Gabriel felt the ache set in. That raw feeling of skin irritated and abused beyond what it could handle spread through him. It chased away the feeling of loss, of heartache, and for a moment, Gabriel had forgotten he lost an agent at all. The immediate _need_ to orgasm filled his emptiness instead, but Gabriel didn’t stroke himself. He let the urge sit there, let it torture him. 

The rhythm Jesse had kept up began to fail and Jesse’s soft noises became louder, more urgent. Jesse swore under his breath and Gabriel knew he was close, that he was holding out just for him. Knew that Jesse would hold out until he absolutely couldn’t, just so Gabriel could get what he thought he didn’t deserve; release. 

For him—for his sweet, always gentle Jesse—Gabriel arched his back a little more, dropped his head back and just… gave in. Let go. His body trembled with an orgasm that tore him to pieces and left him dizzy, that had him calling out Jesse’s name. It rendered him boneless, lighter somehow, as if the torturous self-denial—no, as if _Jesse_ alone—had set him free. 

They came down together in each other’s arms. Gabriel laid his head against Jesse’s chest, listening to the quick thrum of his heartbeat, letting it knit his broken soul whole again. Jesse kissed his head before resting his chin there, rubbing his back in small, lazy circles. They didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The soft touches and Jesse’s kisses said, _I’m here, It's not your fault_. 

_I love you_.

Only in Jesse’s arms did he begin to heal.


End file.
